


Evolutionary Theory

by MyckiCade



Series: Just Like Your Father [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Snake Babies, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-27 02:30:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: "Do you think they'll be like this, always?" Aziraphale asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.Crowley raised an eyebrow. "What, like, snakes, you mean?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Do the kids stay snakes forever, or do they change into toddlers/babies?
> 
> Awww! That's so adorable! I gave it some thought, and I think it would go down, a little something like this:
> 
> P.S. This is being broken down, into (at least) three parts.

"Do you think they'll be like this, always?" Aziraphale asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He didn't dare raise it, even a fraction, for fear of waking the two slumbering hatchlings curled around his throat.

Crowley looked up, from where he sat, at the opposite end of the sofa. "What do you mean?" he murmured, with a tired smile. The child draped over his shoulder didn't budge. The one on his chest wiggled for a second, before settling back down. Reaching up, Crowley brushed a gentle thumb along the boy's side, hoping to comfort him back to sleep.

On the other cushion, Aziraphale looked to be struggling over a thought. "I mean, will they be... Well..." He looked to each of the four children, in-turn, before looking to their mother. "Like they are, now."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "What, like, snakes, you mean?"

Aziraphale gave a guilty nod. "I-I'm not trying to say that there's something wrong with it. With _them._" He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Crowley's smile returned. Now, his angel was just over-thinking it. "I love them. You know I do. I just wondered if..." He sighed. "Well, I just wondered if you thought they might have inherited your gift for... Well... Transmogrification."

"Shape-shifting, angel," Crowley corrected lightly. "Let them learn the easy words, first." That got a smile. Still, Aziraphale carried that expression of guilt, which didn't suit the demon, at all. "I know what you mean. And, honestly, I'm not sure."

Blue eyes glanced up. "No?"

Crowley shook his head briefly, before catching himself. "I mean, I'd like to think so. They've certainly got the right personalities for it."

"My dear, they've only just joined the world." True, just hours prior, they had begun cracking their ways into existence, beyond their shells. They'd been checked, fed, and sleepy, in no time. Given the hours of waiting, watching, and caring for them, their parents were likewise ready for a nap. "How can you tell what their personalities are?"

Crowley's lips turned up, in the softest expression he was sure he'd ever attempted. (If a full fifty-percent of that expression was smug satisfaction, then so be it. He'd earned it). "Easy," he replied, looking the father of his children in the eyes. "I'm their mother."

***

"Where in the f-." Crowley paused, catching himself, at the last second. He leaned back, to peer through the doorway, and into the living room. Nah, they couldn't hear him. Still, he bit his tongue. He'd promised Aziraphale, after all.

But, really, where, in every conceivable Circle of Hell, was his fucking _plant mister?!_

It had been going on for _days,_ now. Every time he tried to find something, he felt like it wasn't where he'd left it. Keys, cups, books... Crowley half-expected to come home to find the whole blessed flat moved slightly to the left. He was getting closer and closer to believing that, no, he wasn't just imagining it. Which left only a handful of options:

1\. Aziraphale was right, and pregnancy had left him a little light in the brain cells, and lax in memory.

2\. Aziraphale thought he was being fucking funny, in hiding Crowley's things.

3\. The fucking place was haunted.

Honestly, he liked the third option the best. He was pretty sure he'd read that, somewhere, in the last century, that newborn babies could disrupt the peace and harmony of the spirit world. And, he'd had four of them.

Crowley cringed. On second thought, the first option was looking better, and better.

Pausing, he took a deep breath, which he slowly let back out. Where hadn't he looked? Well, no, really, where _hadn't_ he looked, by that point? He'd been through the bedroom, the bathroom, and he'd threatened the plants three separate times. (As expected, everyone was pretty well mum on the subject). Nothing was on the kitchen counters, but-_Oh!_ Maybe, the cupboards. It stood to reason. After all, Aziraphale was always putting things back, where they didn't belong.

Bless him, his lover tried. His heart was in the right place, even if Crowley had no idea where the angel's brain sometimes ended up.

Though, as of recently - as evidenced, at the moment - Crowley really was one to talk.

Well, the cupboards were as good an idea as any, he supposed. He made a sudden one-eighty, intent to saunter back to the kitchen. A shot of discomfort in his hips stopped him in his tracks. Crowley swallowed back a hiss, and shook his head. "Ow." He rocked from side to side, a few times, stretching that one out, before continuing on his way. "Wish that would go away." From the beginning of his pregnancy, he'd been plagued by aches to... most of his body. And, _most_ of them had gone away, by the time he'd given birth. The hips, though. That pain had decided to stick around for a prolonged torment. The frequency, and severity had both lessened, but every now and then...

Crowley smiled, just a little. Every now and then, he'd get a reminder of how worthwhile the last six thousand years truly had been.

"Helps that you're cute, too," he murmured, as he passed by the most precious basket in all of Creation. He peeked in, smiling at the three slumbering sn-.

_Three?_ Oh, Hell, not this again.

"Freddie, you little-." That child was a terror, Crowley had concluded. Every time he turned his back, Freddie was out of the basket, and off on an adventure. He had no idea where the boy got it from. Honestly. One of Aziraphale's hidden traits, he imagined.

And, promptly, he scoffed. 'Hidden'. Sure.

Crowley continued toward the kitchen, already picturing the jar of biscuits, in his head, complete with his son, nibbling away on more sugar than any four children would ever need. (And, he would know).

"Somethin' wrong, Mama?" came a voice from Aziraphale's chair, across the room.

"Yeah, baby, don't worry. I've just got to go find your brother."

Wait. Wait, _what?_

Crowley stopped, mid-step, just to back up, a few paces. Poking his head back into the living room, he turned wide eyes toward the source of that voice. He was met by the stare of a pair of golden-coloured eyes, under a mop of messy, blonde curls. _A little girl._ Three, maybe four years old. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought someone's child had wandered into his flat, by mistake.

"Uhhh," he muttered helpfully, as he stepped closer to the girl. "Hi, there."

She beamed. "Hi, Mama!" The child kicked her feet, under the weight of the heavy book that was open, atop her lap.

Yeah. Yeah, she was definitely one of his.

Crowley took another step. Floundered for a second, for something to say. "Sooo..." he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels, a couple of times. "Out of the basket, I see?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Daddy didn't finish the story yet, and I wanna' know what happened to th'dragon." She held up the story book, a bit, for her mother to see.

"Ah-huh." Crowley nodded slowly. So, she'd clearly gone from one end of the room to the other, powered by the knowledge that, at the end of her efforts, she would be rewarded with a book. Yeah. That sounded familiar. "And, you had to stretch your limbs, because...?"

What followed was the most indignant expression he'd ever encountered, from a child. "How else was I gonna' turn the pages?" She huffed, just a little, before glancing back down to the book. "I had t'stare at the same picture so long, I got bored."

Crowley found _himself_ staring for a moment. And, when the first thought in his head was, _Yeah, wait 'til your Dad tries to take you to a gallery,_ he scrubbed a hand over his face. Blinked, a few times. Made sure he wasn't hallucinating. He could hardly blame himself, on that last bit. It was borderline insane, what was happening. All right, all right, yes, he knew the day was likely to arrive, eventually, but... He was talking to his child. Talking _with_ her, not just rambling on about nothing, and getting a tongue-flicker, in return. But, if he was talking to _her..._

Crowley took a moment to glance back at the basket, under the heat lamp. One, two-Yep. Still three of them. Well, he'd be blessed. He owed Freddie an apology.

Turning back to his most recent runaway, he squinted, trying to figure out which one she was. Pinky and Jeckle had the same colour eyes, so that was out, as an identifier. And, all three that remained in the basket were still sound asleep, curled up, and hiding any other telltale markings.

Ah, right. _Markings._ That was when he spotted it. Along the little girl's side, near her ribs, Crowley could see the edges of what looked to be a fairly sizable birthmark. A blush-coloured birthmark.

Again, the demon found himself smiling. "Pinky."

Pinky looked up again. "Yes, Mama?" She held his gaze, expectant, and Crowley felt something catch in his chest. It wasn't just the blonde hair that gave her away as her father's daughter.

Oh, Aziraphale was going to shit a brick.

Striding the rest of the way across the room, Crowley nabbed the book from his daughter's hands. Before Pinky could give voice to the protest he could just _feel_ was coming on, he lifted the child into his arms. "Come on, then," he replied, finally, and dropped a kiss to Pinky's cheek. She giggled, hugging her arms around his neck. Oh, motherhood was turning him into such a sap. He was going to be a puddle of goo, before too long. And, this was just the first!

"Where are we goin'?"

"To get some clothes on you." Crowley grinned, carrying Pinky toward the bedroom. "Maybe, comb your hair. Can't have you running around, in the altogether, when your father gets home." Said father, he knew, was in for quite a surprise.

"He'd better be home, soon!" Pinky warned. "He's got stories ta' finish!"

Crowley threw his head back, in a laugh. _Quite a surprise, indeed._

***

Later, while he and Aziraphale sat on the couch, accompanied by a bottle of wine, Crowley scrunched his nose, in thought. "Where did she even get 'Mama' from, anyway?"

Aziraphale's answer was just fucking typical. "Well, my dear, I'm sure it was from one of those dreadful television programs you like to watch, while they're awake."

Crowley didn't even check to see if any of the children could see him, before he flipped their father off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: On, with the show! I'm fond of a certain idea, concerning Crowley's eating habits, and, as fair warning, I am running with it, here.
> 
> Also, due to my inability to reign in ANYTHING, this story will now need four chapters. ^^.

Aziraphale was going to have a panic attack. At the very least, the celestial equivalent _of._ He could feel it building, behind his rib cage, a deep, gnawing, all-together indescribable sense of-... Of...

Oh, Hell, he wasn't even sure, anymore. All he knew was that he was worried, and anxious, and it was all because Crowley _wouldn't eat._

Truth be told, Crowley had never been incredibly fond of food, Aziraphale knew as much. Special occasions, he'd maybe indulge in a nibble, or when he was too drunk to remember that, in his own words, _"Blech"._ The demon's person had apparently learned to sustain itself on toxic levels of alcohol, surely out of a desperate kicking and pleading of self-preservation. (The poor thing wasn't going to get much else, after all). And, all right, yes, it wasn't strictly a matter of the two of them _needing_ food, but there had always been a constant, with Crowley. He was lean, yes. Angular, a bit bony, maybe. He'd always maintained it, no matter what he did, or didn't consume. He'd never gained weight. He'd never lost weight.

Until recently.

It was alarming, to say the least. Stretched out on his back, on the floor, in a patch of warm sunlight, Aziraphale couldn't help think that Crowley looked more like a vampire (with an obvious death wish), than a demon. Eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. All he needed was a showy, satin-lined coffin to curl up in.

Best not mention that. It would have been right up his alley.

Bundled up, as he was, in a black turtleneck, with matching lounge pants, and socks, the change in figure stood out most about Crowley's face. Defined cheekbones had become even more pronounced, in the last weeks. His colour was just _off,_ in a way the angel couldn't quite pinpoint, and he never would have thought _any_ being could look so _tired,_ besides. Certainly not for all of the extra sleep his lover was getting. He looked drained. He looked fragile.

It was driving Aziraphale, in a most basic, human term, _nuts._

_Evil always carries the seeds of its own destruction._

He prayed, and prayed that this wouldn't be Crowley's.

Wringing his hands together, the desperate being sighed. "Please, Crowley?" he asked again. "I'll get you anything you like. Whatever your heart desires."

Crowley hummed, without moving, eyes remaining closed. "My heart desires a nap, angel."

"But..." He couldn't combat his own quiet, helpless tone. Didn't try, either, hoping it might turn in his favour. "You haven't eaten, in _days..._ Surely, that can't be good."

"What can't be good," Crowley interrupted, "is you, fretting yourself to death." He shifted his hips, with a small flinch. Aziraphale frowned at the sight. "Fair warning. If you discorporate, while I'm gravid, I _won't_ be happy."

Aziraphale gave a quiet _tsk._ "You're being dramatic."

"Oh, and you're not?"

"I'm worried about losing you, you idiot!" All right, he hadn't intended to shout. Crowley seemed as surprised as the angel felt. Well, if nothing else, at least he'd forced Crowley to look at him. "I'm... I'm sorry. I just..." He sighed, shoulders slumping, eyes focused on a patch of floor between his feet. "I don't know how to _help._ I did this to you, and I can't even lighten the burden."

Silence consumed the room, following the admission. Aziraphale shook his head, just a bit. He was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. Oh, what must Crowley think of him? To be in such a condition, at the fault of the most useless of mates? Blinking away the burning sensation intent on overtaking his eyes, he turned for the kitchen, if only to distance himself from his moment of failure.

_What kind of a father am I to be,_ he scolded himself, _if I can't even look after their mother?_

"Aziraphale."

Aziraphale paused, half out of the room. "Yes, my dear?" he asked, bracing himself. His proper address wasn't a good sign.

"I don't think your children would refuse a cup of cocoa." His heart skipped. _Truly?_ The angel chanced a look at Crowley, to find the demon smiling at him gently. "Maybe, with a marshmallow, or two?"

_Oh,_ the grin that crossed Aziraphale's face had to have been incredible. Magnificent, even, in its relief. "I'll get the kettle going," he promised, and dashed toward the stove. There wasn't a second to waste. If a cup of cocoa was what they wanted, a cup of cocoa was what they'd have.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

***

"I don't understand how you don't break your face, smiling like that."

"Oh, hush."

***

Aziraphale was losing his mind. There was no other explanation for it. Six thousand years, and some change, and this was what it had come to. A poor, old angel, with a skull filled with cobwebs, and one I.O.U., where his brain ought to have been.

Really, he _knew_ he'd placed his mug on the counter. It had been there, not five minutes ago, he was sure of it! Now, the blasted thing was nowhere to be seen.

Grace, be his guide, for his patience runneth thin.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale called, stepping into the living room, head darting this way, and that. "Crowley, have you seen my-." He stopped short, and swallowed. Oh, he was never to hear the end of this.

Standing by the coffee table, Crowley held out a hand, a curve of porcelain dangling from his little finger. His free hand rested on his hip, tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek. "Let me take a wild guess," he began, all too knowingly.

Aziraphale sighed. "Where?"

Crowley gestured toward the bathroom. "Edge of the sink, this time, I'm afraid." He stepped up to Aziraphale, depositing the mug into carefully-manicured hands. "Gettin' a little spooky, isn't it?"

"My dear," Aziraphale replied, barely suppressing a groan. "We've been over this. We _do not_ have a Poltergeist."

"Oh, come on. Let my imagination run away with you, for a minute."

"I've been entertaining _that_ for several millennia, now."

Crowley waved a hand. "So _negative."_

"Need I remind you, _darling,_ that the last time we turned the reigns over to your imagination, you got pregnant?" He couldn't help but smile, as he said it. Truly, it destroyed any hope of a stern warning. It was well-worth it, though, for the way that Crowley blushed. A blush that he wasted no time in leaning up to kiss. "Thank you, for returning my cup."

His lover's eyes widened. "It's not as if I had it, all the while." Crowley scoffed, which quickly became a sigh. "All right, but you have to admit it, angel. Something wild is going on, in here."

Much as Aziraphale wanted to agree, he just couldn't. "I will admit to nothing of the kind." He sniffed once, fingers tapping along the side of his cup. "There is a perfectly logical explanation for everything."

"Says the _ethereal angel of God."_

Fair. But, not the point. "We aren't haunted, Crowley. That's absurd."

"Plant mister, three days gone," Crowley began, holding up one finger. A second soon joined it. "Remote control. Never where we leave it." Third finger. "My watch is _still missing."_

Aziraphale winced. "As are my slippers... Oh, _all right._ Perhaps we _are_ experiencing a shift in the metaphysical." He rocked a bit on his feet, trying to ignore the smug expression of 'I told you so' in golden eyes. "It just doesn't make any _sense."_

"You once said that about the combustion engine." Crowley held his arms out, palms toward the Heavens. "Look where we are, now."

"What's a combu-... Comb-..." Both angel and demon looked up, eyes immediately landing on their daughter. The little girl had set her book aside, miracle of miracles, and was fighting, it seemed, to repeat the exact words her mother had used, a moment before. Frustrated, she scowled. "What you said, Mama?"

Crowley grinned, and made his way over to the corner armchair. _"Com-bus-tion en-gine,"_ he repeated, and plucked Pinky from her seat. The child giggled, sending no small measure of warmth through Aziraphale's chest. "Wanna' try it again?"

Determined, Pinky gave it another go. "Com-Comb..."

"You'll get it," Crowley assured her, settling the girl on his hip. He snapped his keys up (which, blessedly, were on the coffee table, where he'd left them), with his free hand. Apparently, their other-worldly debate was forgotten, for now. "Maybe, while we go for a spin, huh? We're getting low on milk, anyway." The last part, he directed at Aziraphale, as he swooped in to drop a kiss on the angel's cheek. Crowley turned, a fraction, to give Pinky the chance to do the same. That warmth seemed to do a little dance of joy. "You'll be all right, a minute, then?"

Aziraphale wanted to scold his lover, for thinking him incapable, but... God, help him, he just couldn't. The adoring smile on his face just wouldn't allow it. "Yes, of course," he assured, instead. "You have a wonderful time." He looked to Pinky. "Be a good girl, mm?"

Pinky nodded. "I will, Daddy."

"I know you will, darling." He looked to Crowley. "Perhaps you can teach your mother to behave, along the way, too?"

"Ha, ha," Crowley mocked, over the sounds of Pinky's giggle. He turned for the door, and pressed a kiss to Pinky's forehead. Aziraphale smiled, once more, feeling his eyes mist over, just a touch. He'd never seen Crowley so in his element. _And, he'd helped to get the demon there._ "Just be a minute, angel."

_Oh, damn._ "Take a few more!" he shouted insistently. "Try something under seventy, for a change!" The _click_ of the door, as it closed, was his only response. Aziraphale sighed. He had faith that Crowley would do the responsible thing, with their child in the car. (And, if not, he could only pray that the Bentley just _might). Oh, nonsense._ The children were Crowley's pride and joy, after all. He was taking motherhood more seriously than anything he'd ever attempted. Pinky was going to be safer in that Bentley, than any other child in their path.

Aziraphale swallowed. And, maybe, sent up a word of hope for the poor souls of London.

Fate now in the hands of another, Aziraphale carried his mug to the kitchen, finally setting it back onto the counter. "Try it again," he threatened, eyeing the porcelain, with promise. All at once, he realized what he had said, and rolled his eyes. They were _not haunted,_ damn it. _Crowley, and his ever-contagious imagination._

Shaking away the thought of anything... spooky, Aziraphale moved back to the living room. With any luck, he could sneak in a quick story, with the children, before Crowley and Pinky returned. He picked up the storybook from where Pinky had left it, open, and draped over the arm of the chair. Turning it over, Aziraphale smiled. Their eldest, it seemed, had a fondness for one tale, in particular. This was the third time he'd found her reading through the story about the princess, and the dragon. Many little girls dreamed of being princesses, but... Perhaps he was a crazy, hopeful father, but he rather suspected that Pinky preferred the idea of being the dragon.

"Well, we could probably find a new story today," he murmured, settling down on the couch. Aziraphale carefully flipped through the pages, with a thoughtful hum. "How about the story of the little rabbit, in the garden?" Looking to the side, the angel peeked into the basket on the next cushion. "Funny thing about the-... Garden-Oh!" Aziraphale jumped to his feet, book falling, forgotten, to the floor. The-... The basket... It was...

_Empty._

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, Crowley had only been gone for a few moments. Where on Earth could they have gone?!

"Children?" he called, frantic, lifting the couch cushions. He dropped to his knees, and looked under the couch, the coffee table, the chair. They weren't there. Not one of them was in sight. And, he hadn't even seen them slither by. He hadn't been paying enough attention. Oh, what kind of father would lose his own children?

Crowley was going to _murder him._

Sitting back on his heels, Aziraphale did the only thing he could think of. He tipped his head back, and shouted. "Fucking Hell!"


End file.
